Tuesday, May 28, 2013

[ bhanu kapil ]

The removal of a person, abruptly, from a set of conditions is complicated for the soul. Did you ever feel that? I am writing to you, a writer. As a child, in the space before writing, did you suffer when you went to other people’s houses? Did you feel their homes to be superior to your own with its backward-seeming margarines and vinegars for preserving then cooking vegetables and animals? Were you born a cyborg into a house of brutal monsters who bickered over everything from feeding to sleeping schedules? Or did you, as the years passed, have the growing sense that you were a citizen born to immigrants? For example, could I ask if it ever seemed to you that, in the hospital, you had been taken from the wrong incubator by an exhausted, starving nurse twenty-one hours into a forty-eight hour shift? There is something about a monster that is formulated in these hours or days just after birth; a crossed or normal birth that, either way, is connected to a profound confusion deep in the routines of transference.